


A New Friend

by DAfan7711



Series: Dragon Age - Short stories, Vignettes [9]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, OC Kiss Week, One Shot, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 12:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9272456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DAfan7711/pseuds/DAfan7711
Summary: What if Cappi Cadash had been delayed and hadn't witnessed the Conclave explosion that marked Samhal Lavellan as the Herald of Andraste? Dwarf and elf meet at an Inquisition campfire.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedEris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedEris/gifts).



> An OC Kiss Week surprise for my wonderful tumblr mutual, @rederiswrites, starring her Samhal Lavellan and my Cappi Cadash. I even had the cheek to write it from Samhal’s POV!
> 
> [Read this story on tumblr](https://dafan7711.tumblr.com/post/155647067376/samhal-lavellan-and-cappi-cadash-oc-kiss-week).

The dwarf with the clean-shaven, ruddy red chin was a new face—not that Samhal knew many people yet, beyond Cassandra’s little disgruntled inner circle of Varric and Solas. It was unsettling to not know all the players and what they wanted.

The newcomer’s russet-blond hair was up in a bun, and he left his dragon-hide gloves on while he stirred up the campfire with a stick. Curious, Samhal tilted his head for a better look.

Nothing about him indicated he was an Inquisition agent, other than his presence at Cassandra’s campfire in the cold, dark winter night.

He was a slightly smoothed square block: his chin jut out of his square face just a bit, his shoulders and feet were planted like stone even though he sat leaned over the fire, and his armor, textured like cream and gold dragon scales, didn’t disguise his solid square form.

The dwarf looked up and met Samhal’s stare, clear green eyes steady. He might be shorter than Cassandra, but Samhal had the feeling he’d be more difficult to outrun than Cassandra.

On impulse, Samhal sent him a flirty smile and wink. The dwarf’s lips twitched into a half-smile and he winked back, but it wasn’t a leer or an invitation—more like they shared a private joke. Even more intrigued, Samhal sashayed over and sat on a log to the right of the dwarf’s; close enough to watch his face, yet far enough that they wouldn’t accidentally touch.

“Ser Lavellan?” The dwarf’s Marcher accent was as low and solid as his body.

Samhal nodded.

“Cappi Cadash, at your service,” he half-bowed from his seat. “I was disappointed to miss the beginning of the Conclave—we’ve wrestled with an inordinate number of bandit ambushes this trip, with much delay—until I encountered your party on the road tonight. Now, I think we were lucky.”

He set his stick aside and straightened in his seat. “I’m sorry for your loss. My condolences to your clan.”

Whatever quip Samhal had planned to make about wishing he hadn’t been on time either died on his lips. Varric had asked how he was holding up when Cassandra was out of earshot, but no one had bothered to ask if he’d lost anything—anyone—in the explosion. They said he’d gained honor as the Herald. Responsibility. No one worried for him, other than his usefulness to them and if he’d bolt again.

His throat constricted as quick as flash-frozen bark. Maintaining eye contact was hard, but he managed. “Thank you.”

“Do you need anything?” Cappi asked.

What did he mean, “anything?” Where was this going?

“You’re a merchant?” Samhal asked.

Cappi gave him that quirk of the lips again and Samhal wished he could see him smile fully, see if his grin was as bright as his crystal-green eyes. “In a manner. Some of my caravan is carrying lyrium for Haven. I run a freelance guard detail for clients I choose.” He pulled his gloves off and folded them into a pouch on his belt. His fingers and hands were as powerfully square and ruddy as the rest of him in the dancing orange firelight.

“What do you know of Haven?” Samhal leaned toward the dwarf and scratched the back of his Marked hand against a spindly protrusion of his rough log seat. “ _Fuck_ ,” he grunted out, watching blood pour from a deep cut that ran from his first knuckle to his outer wrist.

Power rushed up his spine and he fought it back, locked it behind the inner wall he’d erected after his mamae’s funeral. His vision went white for a moment while he forced away the unwanted magic.

Samhal blinked to find Cappi on one knee in front of him, pressing a folded, pristine white handkerchief to his cut. The Mark fizzled an eerie green light between their palms. The dwarf didn’t comment on it, though it must have made his skin hum as much as Samhal’s. Cappi deftly wrapped another handkerchief around Samhal’s hand and tied it tight, his calloused fingertips gentle against Samhal’s sensitive skin.

Cappi gently set Samhal’s hand down on the elf’s leg. “You’ll want your medic to look at that before you retire for the evening.” The comment reverberated up Samhal’s arm in a not-unpleasant fashion.

“Sure. Uh … thanks.”

Cappi nodded and stood, so Samhal had to look up to see his face.

The space between them was very warm, very small.

“What kind of mercenary has more than one clean handkerchief on his person?”

Cappi chuckled and bent to place a kiss low on Samhal’s cheek, just barely touching the side of Samhal’s lips. Samhal froze, breathless. Cappi’s face was as weathered as his hands, but his lips were soft as fresh rose petals. And Samhal had enjoyed plenty of rose petals over the years.

But he still didn’t know—

Cappi straightened. “If you need anything, the Nightingale and the King can get me a swift message.”

Samhal laughed. “King, what king? Are you as buggering mad as you are built, Cappi? I don’t plan on ever meeting _any_ king.”

Cappi just gave him that half-smile again. “Good night, Samhal.”

“Good night.”

Samhal watched Cappi approach the line of red tents. Even with all that armor, the rear view was as interesting as the front.

A disgusted huff drew his attention to the other side of camp, where Cassandra and Solas frowned with disapproval. Samhal flashed them a cheeky grin and turned back in time to see Cappi casually pluck Varric’s quill from the writer’s hand.

Solas sat beside Samhal and placed his herbal bag at their feet. “Please remain still while I tend to your injury.”

“Whatever you say, Solas.” Samhal let Solas take his hand. Solas’ smooth, dexterous fingers felt nice, too, but Samhal was more focused on the dwarves’ exchange than the ointment and elfroot potion Solas used to disinfect and seal his cut. Even with his keen hearing, Samhal had to strain to pick up their low voices.

“Here’s the deal,” Cappi idly twirled the quill between his fingers. Varric was doing his best not to scowl—and failing. “You agree I was never here, and I agree never to tell Seeker Pentaghast about your recent correspondence to certain companions.”

“Agreed,” Varric growled out.

Cappi cheerfully handed his quill back. “As always, a pleasure doing business with you, Varric.”

Samhal watched Cappi duck into his solitary tent. A dwarf took up a watch post in front of the tent; a human took up a watch post behind it. Their faces weren’t recognizable in the dim light.

His cheek tingled pleasantly, still damp from Cappi’s unexpected kiss. Too bad about the guards. There wasn’t any way to discretely see if Cappi was cold at night, too.

“Do you know who they’re talking about, Solas?”

“I do not eavesdrop on conversations I was not invited to attend.”

“Come on, Solas—”

“It is time for us to retire for the evening. The Seeker wishes to depart at first light.”

Samhal sighed and followed Solas to their shared tent. He unabashedly stripped down before crawling into his solitary bedroll. He rolled his eyes at Solas’ turned back and stuck out his tongue. The other elf left his leggings on when he settled down, and rolled to his side, facing the opposite tent wall.

Samhal had thought Solas asleep, but the older elf suddenly asked, “Did you make a new friend this evening, lethallin?”

Samhal smiled to himself and rubbed his now-dry check. “Yes, Hahren.”

Solas huffed. “You no more consider me your Hahren than you consider Andraste your Lady.”

Interesting. Did Solas want to mentor him? Maybe he was more than a grumpy bald apostate with shapely legs.

“But what if I wanted you to be?” Samhal asked.

The silence was deep for a full minute before Solas answered, “Good night, Samhal.”

“Good night, Solas.”

**Author's Note:**

> Samhal Lavellan belongs to [RedEris](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RedEris/pseuds/RedEris). Check out Samhal’s Dragon Age: Inquisition story, [Little Fox](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4023130/chapters/9043672), on AO3 (Explicit, M/M).
> 
> Cappi Cadash belongs to DAfan7711, who wrote this one-shot for the OC Kiss Week 2017 on tumblr.
> 
> [Elven words](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Elven_Language): Mamae is Mother. Lethallin (lethallan for females): Casual reference for someone with whom one is familiar, loosely translated to cousin or clansman. Hahren: Elder. Used as a term of respect by the Dalish, but more specifically for the leader of an alienage by the City Elves.


End file.
